


O Brother, Where Art Thou?

by flyy0ufools



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, Season/Series 12, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyy0ufools/pseuds/flyy0ufools
Summary: Over the last fifteen years, Sam Winchester had walked away from his brother more times than he cared to count. This time, Sam couldn’t come up with a legitimate excuse. At least, not one that was appropriate to tell his brother. He knew that, as much as him leaving would hurt Dean, staying here would lead Sam to making choices that could hurt Dean so much more. Could push Dean away permanently. Because Sam Winchester was in love with his brother, and he couldn't hide it any longer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot that I'd written this in the fall, but I found it when I was going through some of my old docs. So I went ahead and finished it up. Hope you guys like it :)))

Over the last fifteen years, Sam Winchester had walked away from his brother more times than he cared to count. The first time it happened was August 2, 2001. He told Dean that he didn’t want to hunt anymore; he wanted to go to school, get a degree, make something of himself. He’d used different excuses over the years—he hated hunting, that was always Dean’s and their father’s thing; Dean didn’t trust him, so how could he trust Dean?; Dean lied to him and he needed some time alone; or that one time where he didn’t have his soul so he just didn’t really care. These were all secondary excuses, and Sam knew that by themselves they wouldn’t have ever been enough to make him leave. But there was one underlying issue, one he could never tell Dean.

This time, Sam couldn’t come up with a legitimate excuse. At least, not one that was appropriate to tell his brother. It had been too many years, too many deals with devils, too many close calls and actual deaths. Sam’s heart was aching, and now their mother was back, which was amazing but also terrifying. Because Sam had never really known his mother, he never needed to hide anything from her. But here she was, alive and well and able to look at Sam with fresh eyes, able to see Sam’s wants and needs and emotions, able to pierce through the surface of Sam’s relationship with Dean in a way no one else had yet. Sam felt raw underneath his mother’s gaze, and he was scared if he stayed with his brother any longer something would happen, something that could never be taken back. So he didn’t offer an excuse to Dean this time; he just left.

Sam woke at 6am and packed quietly, knowing (now that they had the safety of the bunker) that when Dean was out, he was _out_ , but not being sure how easily Mary could be woken. He didn’t pack everything; not because he knew he was coming back, but because he knew he _wanted_ to come back, eventually; whether or not that could happen, he just couldn’t handle thinking about right now. After his bag was full and his bed was made, he sat down at his desk to write a note to Dean, a note that was impossible to write. How was he supposed to explain to his brother that he needed him, he’d die for him, he loved him _so much_ that maybe (not maybe, _definitely_ ) he was _in_ love with him, and that’s why he had to leave…without actually saying any of that? Sam knew he couldn’t _not_ leave a note, though, or else Dean would rip apart the country searching for him. So he kept it short and simple:

_Dean,_

_I’m sorry I have to leave like this, but this is all too much. Mom’s back and Lucifer’s out there again and I don’t think I can be who you need me to be right now. I’m too distracted to hunt and I need some time by myself._

_I’m so sorry,_

_Sam_

That was all Sam could get out; if he tried to keep writing, he knew everything would come spilling out, but he couldn’t let that happen. Hell, it was precisely that reason that he was leaving—to keep it all zipped up tight. For fifteen minutes he stayed seated at his desk, the piece of paper in front of him looking so innocent but feeling like a suicide note. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to talk himself into staying, but all he could see in his head was getting up and walking down the hall into his brother’s room; sliding into the bed right next to his brother; feeling his brother’s bare skin against him; his brother turning towards him not in confusion or disgust but in want and need equal to that of his own.

When Sam realized what exactly he was imagining, his mind was made up. He couldn’t be here now, not like this. His relationship with Dean was probably the best that it had ever been—no secrets or lies, no demon blood or crossroads deals; no trials or angels or kings of hell or anything else to split them up. So _of course_ Sam had to go and ruin it with his…whatever this was. He knew that, as much as Sam leaving would hurt Dean, staying here would lead Sam to making choices that could hurt Dean so much more. Could push Dean away permanently.

Sam placed the goodbye note on his pillow, grabbed his bag, and walked out of the room. As he crept down the hallway, he passed the door to Dean’s room. He paused and reached out to turn the handle; he just wanted to see his brother one more time. But he stopped himself, remembering what he had been thinking about just a few minutes prior and realizing that opening the physical door to Dean’s room would essentially be opening the metaphorical door to his feelings about Dean that, until now, he’d been able to suppress enough to get through life without anyone knowing, without truly having to admit them to himself. But now…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was just past 10am and Sam was close to Colorado when his phone rang. He immediately knew who it was. He knew that Dean had probably woken up a few minutes ago, wandered outside his room, looked around the bunker for Sam, couldn’t find him, got a little worried because Sam _never_ slept later than Dean unless something was seriously wrong; went to Sam’s empty room and found the note laying on the bed, and called Sam. Sam knew that if he answered the phone, Dean would be there, begging Sam to come home, not understanding why Sam had to leave because _of course he didn’t understand, Sam had never told him the real reason._ And Sam knew that he always had trouble saying no to Dean, and if he answered that call he would be turning around and heading back for the bunker within five minutes. So he sent the call to voicemail and turned off his phone.

When Sam had set out, he’d had no plan of action, no place to go, he’d just needed to leave, to drive until he was going to pass out. He ended up in the Rockies, in a town called Breckenridge. Perhaps a bit more tourist-y than he cared for, but calm and still and Dean-free. He pulled into a motel parking lot, but decided that he needed to stay somewhere that didn’t remind him of his brother. At this point, it wouldn’t have mattered what city he was in; a cheap motel with two beds had been the setting of his and Dean’s lives for thirty years. There was too much history, too many memories, and it made absolutely no sense yet Sam couldn’t make the thoughts go away.

So Sam sat in the car in the parking lot, and turned his phone back on so he could look up an Airbnb to stay in. It took a minute for his phone to turn on, and another minute for it to connect to the network. Sam braced himself for what was coming, and…yep, there it was. _Six new voicemails,_ his phone told him. He cleared the notification and pulled up the internet browser. It only took him a few minutes to find a reasonably-priced week-to-week Airbnb on the outskirts of town. He placed the reservation online, then drove over there to check in.

The man renting out the tiny studio apartment seemed nice enough, telling Sam that if he had any issues to call, and that the wifi password was on the fridge. Sam paid him cash for the entire first week, and the guy left with a smile. Sam took his time unpacking, but he was just putting off the inevitable. Once he was done, he sat down on the bed, took a deep breath, and played the first voicemail.

 _“Sam, it’s me. I just saw your note. Where—what’s going on? Why did you leave? Call me.”_ Dean’s voice rang in Sam’s ear as he pressed delete, and the second voicemail began to play.

 _“Sam. It’s me again. Your phone didn’t even ring this time so I’m guessing you turned it off. We really need to talk. I have no idea what’s going on. Your note really was not very enlightening. Call me.”_ Sam sighed as he deleted the second voicemail, and the third began to play.

_“Sam. It’s been two hours since I found your note, although I’m sure you left sometime in the middle of the night so that I wouldn’t see you leave. That’s low, dude. Look, if you need time alone or whatever—that’s fine, I mean, I’m not mad. But please talk to me.”_

_“Sam, this is your mother. Um…Dean seems really upset and I don’t really understand why or what’s going on but I think you should call him. It’s only noon and he’s already finished off three beers. Please call him. I love you.”_

_“Hello, Moose. I’m not sure what happened in Winchester paradise but your brother has called me three times now to see if I know where you are. It’s cramping my style, so I implore you to call him so that he will leave me alone. I’m not your bloody marriage therapist.”_

_“Sam. I…Why? I just---I don’t under(hic)stand. I thought we were—everything was good, finally. And now, you’re…gone. Why?”_ Dean’s words were slurred, and when his voice cracked on that last “Why?”, Sam’s heart cracked too.

He wanted to call Dean back, _god he wanted to hear Dean’s voice_. That drunk and raw desperation that had been Dean in that last voicemail was not something Sam heard very often, and it killed him to know that he was the one who caused Dean to feel like that. His finger hovered over the green call-back button but he hesitated, then finally turned the phone off again. He didn’t want Dean tracking him by GPS, and he didn’t want to see how quickly his willpower crumbled if he had to dodge calls and texts for the rest of the day, probably the rest of the week. He tried to push all the guilt and worry and sadness out of his mind, and then realized that if he did that he wouldn’t have anything left to think about. So he just closed the shades, pulled the sheets back, climbed into bed, and fell into a fitful sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam had spent the last three weeks wandering around the cozy mountain town, finding the closest coffee shop and the best burger (even though that was Dean’s thing, it was still important to know where to get it) and who had the best happy-hour prices. And boy, was he making use of that last one. Sam had fallen to a Dean-level low of alcoholism: not enough to go to AA, but still way more than what was normal or healthy. He didn’t care. He hadn’t come here to wallow in his grief; he’d come here to give himself time and space so that he could finally, once and for all, _get over his brother._ A phrase no person should ever have to think, yet here he was, not just thinking it but living his life by it.

It was 9pm on a Wednesday night, and Sam was walking back from the bar just down the street from his apartment. Well, he was doing more stumbling than he was walking, but he tried his best not to look too much like a crazy drunk, and he managed to tone it down to just a depressed and heartbroken drunk. Which was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what he was. He made it to the big Victorian house that had been broken up into four different apartments, one of which was his. He was on the second floor, and the stairs leading up to it were slick with the mist that had been teasing the town for the last twelve hours. Halfway up the stairs, Sam slipped. Two strong hands caught him, kept him from tumbling down the stairs and probably breaking an arm. Those same hands guided him up the last five steps to the top, and Sam tried to focus his eyes on the person. Moonlight filtered through dark gray clouds and streaked across Dean’s face. His brother was here, in front of him. It had been three weeks and seventeen drunken nights and two crappy hookups and zero returned calls since Sam had laid eyes on Dean.

“Sam.” Dean looked partly relieved, partly dejected, but wholly and utterly pissed.

“How’d you find me?” Sam asked, not even bothering to say hi. He was too drunk for niceties, and he was definitely too drunk to have to deal with his brother right now.

He searched his pocket for the apartment key, looking everywhere and anywhere except his brother’s face. He managed to get the door unlocked without too much ado, but didn’t go inside. He didn’t want Dean to think this was an open invitation for hashing it out right here and now. Sure, Dean was always the one that said “No chick flick moments,” but Sam didn’t trust himself to be this vulnerable (not to mention wasted) with only Dean around and no one else. The six doubles he’d just downed had numbed his inhibitions and dulled his critical thinking. All the ingredients needed to make the kind of decision that would fuck up his life for good. So he left the door firmly closed and waited for his brother to say something.

“Does it matter?” Dean asked, and Sam could see that he was startled by the lack of welcome.

“Yes. I know you didn’t track me by GPS because I haven’t turned my phone on for three weeks.”

“I know you haven’t turned your phone on, you asshole. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. You could have been dead!”

“I left you a note,” Sam said evenly, trying not to let Dean’s emotions stir up his own much darker ones.

“Oh, yeah, Sam. Thanks for that. It was really thoughtful,” Dean said sarcastically. Sam finally looked at Dean, one eyebrow raised in annoyance. He did not want to do this, not ever but especially not right now.

“What do you want me to say, Dean?” Sam asked with a sigh.

“I want you to answer my calls!” Dean yelled. “I want you to tell me why you just up and left for absolutely no reason!”

“I told you, I needed space to—”

“Oh, bullshit! God, you’re so full of shit, Sam. I don’t even know who you are right now. What happened?”

Sam could feel Dean’s thoughts and fears and rage radiating off him, like lightning that was picking its target, and that target was Sam. He realized that he wouldn’t be able to get Dean to leave, not now, so he opened the door and walked in. Dean followed behind and slammed the door shut hard enough to let Sam know that he was definitely, _definitely_ pissed. Sam walked over to the tiny kitchen and opened an even tinier fridge, pulling out two beer bottles. He tossed one to Dean. Dean caught it deftly and practically tore the cap off before chugging half of it in just a few seconds. This whole time, Dean never took his eyes off Sam, and Sam shifted, uncomfortable under Dean’s scathing gaze. Sam decided to see how honest he could be with his brother without crossing the line and saying something that he couldn’t erase.

“A few weeks ago, it was like…something inside me just kind of broke,” Sam began. He paused to take a drink. He was avoiding Dean’s gaze again, but he noticed that once he started talking, the piercing rage coming from Dean lessened dramatically. “Because everything was finally—well, it wasn’t perfect, obviously. But I think it was the best it had ever been, maybe _ever_. And there was nothing left for me to hide behind.”

Dean spoke gently. “Hide what, Sam? Why would you need to hide behind anything?”

“It’s complicated,” Sam said, trying to brush past it, feeling like he had already somehow said too much.

“Sam,” Dean warned, anger tinging his voice again, making it clear that Sam had better fucking talk, _right now_ , because Dean was not leaving without answers. Sam stumbled over to the edge of the bed and sat down. His beer was in one hand and he put his face in another, to hide the sadness and embarrassment and drunkenness all vying for prime real estate on his expression.

“Dean, if I felt like I could tell you, I would have already. Ages ago.”

“Sammy, you can tell me anything,” Dean pleaded.

“No! No. I mean, there are things you would never want to tell me, right Dean?” Sam asked. Everyone had at least one secret they didn’t want to tell, even if it was just that they were secretly deathly afraid of spiders or that they could never remember the lead singer’s name of their favorite band. It wasn’t always as dark and sinister and _wrong_ as Sam’s secret. Dean coughed.

“I mean, I don’t know, Sam. I guess there are things that I haven’t told you, but it’s not because they’re some huge secret or whatever.”

“You’re telling me that there is nothing, _nothing_ you wouldn’t want me to know?” Sam asked skeptically. Dean looked slightly uncomfortable, and Sam had his answer. “See? There is.”

“Fine,” Dean snapped, “maybe there is. But that didn’t make me leave home in the middle of the night and not answer anyone’s calls for three weeks, so it’s a little different.”

“You’re right, it is different,” Sam said hopelessly. “Because no matter what your secret is, mine is worse. And I knew I couldn’t keep it a secret around you much longer, but I also knew I couldn’t tell you. So I had to leave—”

“You didn’t leave, Sam, you ran! You ran away from me. _From me_ , Sam.” Sam felt like he’d been slapped in the face.

“I know. But I couldn’t tell you. I can’t tell you.” His eyes felt wet, and he realized he was about to cry. Which was stupid, because he didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried in years.

“Sammy,” Dean said quietly, and bent down in front of Sam. He took Sam’s bottle and set it aside, along with his own. He titled Sam’s face up until Sam was forced to look Dean in the eyes. “Think about who you’re talking to. Think about _who we are_ . Sam you died, and I sold my soul to hell so that I could get one more year with you. You threw yourself into the fucking cage with fucking Lucifer and Michael just to save me. We could have closed the gates of hell but we didn’t because I couldn’t lose you, Sam. And then I turned into a demon, and _you_ saved me. But everything was still going to hell, and Death said the only way for me not to care was to kill you. And you know what I did?”

“You killed Death,” Sam mumbled.

“I killed Death. _Death_ , Sammy. And then when we were fighting that pack of werewolves earlier this year, and you got shot, and then that ungrateful asshole tried to kill you because I wouldn’t leave without you…oh god, Sam. I thought you were dead. When I got to the hospital, I—well, I kind of killed myself so that I could beg Billie to bring you back.”

“What?” Sam looked up, surprised. Dean had never told him this. “What are you talking about?”

“I lied,” Dean said. “Afterwards, when you asked me what I did when I thought you were dead, and I said I knew that you weren’t…I lied. I absolutely thought you were dead, so I broke into the hospital pharmacy and ODed on a bunch of different shit. While I was dying I was able to talk to Billie, and she practically laughed at the fact that I had just tried to kill myself to get you back when you weren’t even dead.” Dean was still lightly holding Sam’s face, and Sam reached up to Dean’s chest and grabbed fistfuls of jacket.

“Why would you do that?” he asked. “You know Billie said it’s one and done for us now. Why would you take that chance?”

“Because if you were dead, Sam, and she wouldn’t bring you back, then I figured I might as well die also. Because what’s the point?”

“What? What’s the point? Dean!”

“Sammy, what’s the point in me living if you’re dead?”

“Dean, you still have a life, you still have friends…”

“Yeah, Sam, but I love _you_ .” Sam closed his eyes. This is what he was afraid of. Because he knew his brother loved him, obviously. But Sam didn’t just love Dean—he _loved_ Dean.

“Dean…” Sam hiccupped. “I can’t—you know I love you, but I can’t…I can’t be the brother you want.” Tears that had been building up finally started snaking out of Sam’s eyes and down his cheeks.

“Why not?” Dean said angrily, finally letting go of Sam. As Dean stood back from Sam, Sam’s hands were ripped from Dean’s jacket, and the sudden emptiness mirrored the ache in his chest.

“Because I love you!” Sam finally burst out.

“And?!” Dean yelled.

“And,” Sam screamed back, “I don’t just love you. I’m _in love_ with you, Dean! Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?!” There was silence, and then the sound of Dean’s boots on the floor as he stomped toward the door; at the sound of the door banging shut behind Dean, Sam flinched, then finally broke down in sobs. He’d done it, he finally said what he tried so hard not to, and now his brother was never going to speak to him again.

Sam flopped back onto the bed and curled himself into a ball, his sobs racking his body and drowning out all the noises around him—the whirr of the refrigerator, the splats of water on the roof as the weather finally broke and it began to rain, and farther off the hum of the town hunkering down for the storm. What he didn’t hear was his brother coming back into the apartment and locking the deadbolt behind him. Sam noticed nothing apart from his heart shattering into what felt like a million pieces.

And then he felt the bed shift under someone else’s weight and he started, looking over. There was his brother, kicking his boots off and throwing his jacket on the floor. Dean rolled onto the bed until he was pressed up again Sam completely, like not even a single atom could fit in between their two bodies.

“Dean?” Sam asked tentatively, between sobs. He couldn’t stop crying, as if it had been building up for years and years and now it wouldn’t be ignored any longer.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, “when I told you I loved you, what did you think I meant?”

“We’re family, we’re brothers,” Sam managed to get out, “and brothers love each other.”

“Oh, Sam. Sammy.” Dean pulled Sam over so that they were face to face. He laid his hand on Sam’s cheek, and Sam’s crying subsided. Finally. “I love you, like I’ve never loved anyone else, like I never will love anyone else. _I love you._ ” The way Dean said it, that last sentence—Sam finally understood. He understood why Dean had never said those words to him before—because Dean was worried that if he said _I love you_ to Sam, he wouldn’t be able to hide from Sam any longer. Sam would hear the tone and realize the underlying meaning, realize that if Dean were ever to say _I love you, Sam_ that what he really meant was _I’m in love with you, Sam._ He could hear it now, and it sounded like…life.

He wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him as close as possible. At this point, they were so close that Dean barely had to move for his lips to meet Sam’s. Sam was anxious at first, not sure if this was some kind of alcohol-fueled dream-nightmare mashup that he might wake up from at any second. But after a minute of his lips on Dean’s, he realized that no, this was very much real. He began kissing more frantically, sure now that Dean wasn’t going anywhere. Dean opened his mouth slightly and Sam used the opportunity to slide his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, making Dean quietly gasp with pleasure. Sam melted, knowing that he was the reason his brother was making those sounds, knowing that he was finally able to give his brother everything he ever wanted.

Dean’s hands began roaming over Sam’s body, down his chest, underneath his shirt and back up. Sam got with the program and lifted up so that Dean could slide the shirt up and off, then followed with his own. They laid back again, hands and lips and teeth unrestrained. Sam moved down to his brothers neck, sucking a bruise right over Dean’s pulse. Dean’s short fingernails scratched trails up Sam’s back and pulled at Sam’s hair, and he shivered with arousal.

“Dean,” Sam mouthed against his shoulder, “need you.” Dean groaned and gave Sam’s hair another sharp tug, which caused him to gasp loudly. “Fuck, Dean, _now_.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. He began tugging haphazardly at Sam’s jeans while Sam did the same to Dean’s. They managed to get them unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down, then flung carelessly across the room, followed immediately by their boxers.

Sam paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his naked brother, the thought which his mind stuttered over only momentarily. Dean was gorgeous laid out beside him. His face was flushed and his hands were fluttering around his groin, like he was self-conscious about being naked but didn’t want Sam to know. The idea made Sam’s heart leap, and he leaned forward, capturing Dean’s lips in a deep kiss before attempting to roll him over.

They grappled for control and it felt as natural as when they practiced sparring as teenagers. After a few minutes, Dean ended up sprawled on top of Sam, hands pinned above his head. Sam huffed.

“Fine, but next time, you get to be…”

“Deal,” Dean smiled. “Wait, do you have any, um…”

“In the drawer,” Sam motioned with his head to the small nightstand. Dean released Sam’s hands and reached over, pulling the drawer open and plucking out a small bottle of lube. Dean looked down at it, a frown pulling at his brows.

“Why do you—” Dean started, but Sam interrupted.

“Dean. You really wanna talk about this _right now_?” Dean hesitated, then shook his head.

“But you’re not gonna…” Dean made a wiggling gesture with his hands.

“Shouldn’t _I_ be the one asking _you_ that?” Sam said, irritated. Dean sighed.

“Yeah. But Sam...I would never. Not if we’re together. Uh...we are together now. Right?” Sam smiled and kissed his brother.

“Sorry, Dean, but you’re stuck with me for good.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Sam smiled as Dean leaned down for another kiss. He worked his way across Sam's jaw and down the long line of his neck, working a hickey into the Sam's skin that matched Dean's own. Sam's fingers ran through Dean's hair, tugging at the short strands, urging him on.

He worked his way down Sam's chest. When his tongue flicked over Sam's nipple and Sam gasped and arched up, Dean paused there for a few minutes, spending time licking and nipping each nipple into hard buds.

He continued down Sam's chest and stomach, running his tongue down each of the dips between Sam's impressive abs. Sam was wiggling and making impatient mewling noises that went straight to Dean's cock.

He sped up his exploration, nipping down each of Sam's hips and leaving small purple bruises in two straight lines. He then moved so that he was hovering over Sam's cock, breath hot on the shaft.

“Dean...god...” Sam finally spoke, his voice dripping with lust and love.

“I got ya, little brother,” Dean replied before dipping his head down and licking a small bead of precome from the slit.

“Oh fuck,” Sam choked out, which spurred Dean on. He licked up the shaft before taking the head in his mouth. Sam's moans became louder and more insistent as Dean worked his cock deeper and deeper into his mouth until it nudged the back of his throat and he choked slightly.

“Shit, Dean, are you okay?” Sam asked. Dean glanced up and saw Sam raised up in his elbows. He was staring at Dean intently, his eyes blown dark with arousal.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, and Sam dropped his head back as the vibrations around his cock caused another spurt of precome. Dean pulled off, licking at the slit and coaxing even more out.

“Dean!” Dean looked up at Sam again. Sam's expression was pleading, almost painful with need.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said and snapped open the bottle of lube, dribbling a generous amount over his fingers. He moved farther down Sam's body and positioned himself in the vee of Sam's legs.

“Dean, what's wrong? Sam asked when Dean paused.

“Have you, uh, ever done this?” Dean didn't know why Sam's answer was so important to him, but for some reason he had to know. Something primal in him _needed_ to be Sam's first. He waited expectantly.

“Have you?”

“No…” Dean replied, still waiting on Sam's answer.

“Me neither,” Sam breathed out in relief, and Dean growled possessively.

“Good,” Dean said as he circle a finger around Sam's hole before gentle pressing in, barely breaching the muscle.

“Oh, shit,” Sam gasped. Dean stilled.

“You okay, Sammy?” he asked worriedly. It would kill him to stop now but there's no way he was going to hurt his brother.

“Fuck, Dean. Feels so good, please. I need more,” Sam panted, and Dean's body flushed with desire, his own cock pulsing, growing even harder.

He pressed his finger in slowly. When it was in as far as it would go, he took a few moments to wiggle it around a little, feeling the tight hot muscles of Sam's hole. His brother cursed loudly and his back bowed off the bed when Dean's finger dragged over what Sam assumed was his prostate. Just that small stimulation caused him to see stars, and he moaned for his brother to add another finger.

Dean obliged, scissoring them slowly once they were both in.

“Dean, more! Please…”

“Sammy, I don't wanna hurt you.”

“Please, Dean,” Sam practically sobbed, so Dean pulled out and squeezed some more lube on his fingers before pushing three in. Sam whined at the intrusion. It was too much too soon, but it still wasn't enough.

“I'm ready, Dean,” he said.

“You're still _really_ tight, Sam,” Dean said doubtfully.

“I'll be okay, Dean,” Sam assured him, and he knew it was true. He'd experienced pain on an epic level, and this was so different. This pain mixed with pleasure was a relief, was something his body had craved since he had masturbated for the first time 20 years ago and saw Dean's face in his mind as he came.

“You tell me if it's too much,” Dean said. Sam nodded. “You promise, Sammy? This has to--god, Sam, I _need_ this to be good for you too.” Dean said seriously.

“I promise, Dean.” Dean nodded, then looked around.

“Um...condom?”

“No,” Sam whispered. “Not with you.”

“Are you cl--” Dean started to ask, but when he saw Sam's glare he snapped his mouth shut. Sam wasn't stupid; even when he was serious with Jess he'd never gone without a condom, and he knew his brother would never have taken that chance either.

“Right, okay,” Dean breathed. He raised up onto his knees and slicked up his cock. He stopped and looked down at Sam, his expression soft. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

“Dean, don't,” Sam said, looking away in embarrassment.

“I'm serious, Sammy,” Dean said, leaning down and using his clean hand to turn Sam's face back to him. “Look at me, baby.” Sam met Dean's gaze. “I've never seen anyone more beautiful than you in my entire life. Not just your body but your soul as well.”

Sam flushed at Dean's words but didn't look away. Dean didn't need to ask if Sam was ready, Sam knew Dean could feel it in his bones. He kept his eyes fixed on Sam's as he pushed forward slowly but steadily. He breached the first ring of muscle and Sam squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

“You okay?” Dean asked, stroking Sam's hair and peppering his face with kisses.

“Give me a minute,” Sam replied breathlessly.

“You need me to stop?” Sam shook his head. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked up at Dean. Dean pushed forward again, his cock sinking a few more inches into Sam.

Sam's nails dug into Dean where he was gripping his biceps and Dean stilled again. He ran his fingers lightly over Sam's face. When his expression smoothed out from pain to just pleasure, Dean moved again until he was buried to the hilt. His hips were snug against Sam's ass, and Sam felt stripped open and laid bare with Dean filling him up so completely. He whimpered softly at all the emotions that were flooding his thoughts, and his eyes pricked with tears.

“Baby,” Dean whispered as his fingers ghosted over Sam's cheek, wiping off a tear. “Is it too much?” Dean asked, misinterpreting Sam's expression. Sam shook his head fervently and tugged his brother down into a kiss.

“You can move,” he said against Dean's lips, and Dean immediately pulled out a few inches before thrusting back in slowly.

He repeated this a few times, then sped up his pace, pulling out further before slamming in harder, letting out a guttural moan.

“Fuck, baby, so tight. Feels so good,” Dean babbled. “Can't believe this is finally happening, waited so long, never thought we'd get this, god I love you…”

Sam hadn't pegged Dean for a talker, at least not this kind of talking, but his tone of voice and the words he was saying made Sam think that this was the first time Dean was like this, that he was like this because it was _them._

Sam smiled and wrapped his legs around Dean, urging him to go faster, deeper. Dean's hands were in Sam's hair and Sam was digging his nails into Dean's back. There would probably be marks in the morning, but the image of that just made Sam's cock harden even more.

“Dean,” Sam gasped, and then Dean hit his prostate. “DEAN,” Sam yelled. Dean understood and swiveled his hips slightly, allowing him to hit that same spot on every thrust.

It was Sam's turn to start babbling, and he was unaware of what he was saying. It probably didn't make any sense, but he caught words like _fuck, harder, oh god,_ and Dean's name chanted over and over again.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned, “I'm not gonna last much longer.” He reached for Sam's cock but Sam swatted his hand away. Dean quirked his eyebrow in question.

“Don't...need...it,” Sam said between breaths. Dean's eyes slammed shut and a moan tore from his throat.

“Baby, I'm--I'm gonna…” Dean opened his eyes again and leaned down to kiss Sam. “I love you,” he breathed in Sam's ear, and Sam came immediately, orgasm ripping through his body. He shot out, painting Dean's chest as well as his own with an impressive amount of come. His cock pulsed over and over, orgasm lasting longer than it ever had.

Tears leaked out of his eyes as he dragged his fingers through Dean's hair then cupped his face. He could feel his muscles squeezing tightly around Dean inside of him, and he knew Dean was seconds away from his own release.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, and Dean froze right before Sam felt Dean filling him, hot and wet and sticky. His eyes rolled into the back of his head before he blacked out from pure bliss.

He came to a few minutes later. Dean was wiping his chest off with a warm cloth and looking down at him with a mix of love and awe.

“Come back to bed,” Sam murmured. Dean dropped the washcloth on the floor and crawled in next to Sam, wriggling his legs in between Sam's and throwing his arm around Sam's body. He rested his forehead against Sam and pressed his body as close as possible.

“Tell me this is real,” Sam whispered.

“This is real. Sammy, this is _everything._ ” Dean's words sounded like a prayer, a promise, a beginning of the rest of their lives.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sunlight streamed into the windows and Sam groaned. He'd forgotten to close the curtains last night, and for a few seconds he couldn't remember why he would have done that. Then he registered the light breathing and hot body beside him. He had a split-second moment of panic where he thought he'd attempted another disastrous one night stand, but he pushed that thought away immediately. Because he recognized that breathing, the rhythm and the almost-snore and the occasional huffing. And he recognized the scent, clean despite the sweat and come, musky and salty and a hint of gun oil.

Dean.

He rolled over to face his brother and saw brilliant green eyes staring back at him.

“No freakout?” Dean asked.

“No freakout,” Sam confirmed, and Dean grinned.

“Will you come home now?” Dean asked hopefully. Sam smiled, leaned forward, and caught Dean's mouth in a kiss, morning breath be damned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn't take long for Dean to pack Sam's stuff while Sam called the landlord to let him know he was leaving.

He clambered into the Impala as Dean slid behind the wheel. Sam took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather and car oil and his brother. It smelled like home.

When they got home, Mary greeted them at the door.

“Sam,” she breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him into a hug. He stepped out of it after a few seconds, slightly uncomfortable. It had been years since he’d hugged anyone other than Dean, and he knew it would take awhile to adjust.

“You boys wanna tell me what's going on?” she asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. Dean was barely containing a wide grin and Sam was standing so close to Dean that they were touching from their shoulders all the way down to their knees. Dean shrugged.

“Not right now,” he said and Mary nodded in understanding.

“I'm gonna go unpack and shower,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I should probably shower too,” Dean muttered.

They headed down the hall, Sam stopping briefly in his room to throw his bag on the bed. They then made their way to the bathroom. The bunker had separate shower stalls, but the brothers only used one that day.

It was the best--and longest--shower of Sam's life.

As he stood under the warm spray, arms wrapped loosely around Dean, he nuzzled Dean's neck, planting kisses anywhere he could reach.

“I thought you said you'd never settle down, even with a hunter,” Sam murmured.

“Because, Sammy…I thought you'd never ask.”


End file.
